


held steady

by wordcatchers



Series: through these trembling to still waters [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blindfolds, Childhood Trauma, F/F, Holidays, Light BDSM, Magic Cock, Magically Applied Rope, Misunderstandings, Permanent Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shower Sex, Temperature Play, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28845654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordcatchers/pseuds/wordcatchers
Summary: “Does the library have a bit of competition now?” Andromeda asks, a teasing lilt to her delivery. She undoes the strings tying Hermione’s boots and gingerly tugs them off her before setting to work massaging the woman’s sock-clad feet. She watches as Hermione bites back some noise with her front teeth pressed upon her lower lip and grins devilishly, but before she’s completely distracted she feels the letterbox chest knock against the side of her chest as she resituates herself. As Hermione rolls her eyes and informs that nothing could beat a library, not even a room as arguably brilliant as this, Andy takes one of her hands and pulls the miniaturised object from within her cloak.Cutting herself off, Hermione sits up, now appearing fully awake, and scrutinises the chest once it’s returned to its original size. “What’s that?”-Or, after a misunderstanding involving Teddy, Andromeda finally reveals that it was she who wrote those anonymous letters to Hermione.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Andromeda Black Tonks, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: through these trembling to still waters [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112051
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51





	held steady

**Author's Note:**

> sooooo, the first four thousand or so words of this are smut, as this picks up several hours after part 2 of this series... but then after that there's Things That Are Not Smut. however, it does make a return at the end which def made it where i could not even consider categorizing as mature instead of explicit lmao
> 
> so, if by any chance you clicked on this and want to skip the smut at the start, cmd+f/ctrl+f "Andy spreads her arms wide" and begin there. if you wish to stop before the smut at the end, you can skip from around "smiling like a loon" to "But knowing she’s applied charms for." (minus the ending period bcus I stick my periods and such inside of quotations. dunno if that's grammatically correct but it looks better to me lol) as for the light bdsm bits, iirc there is nothing more than what is listed in the tags. if there is something i forgot, please let me know. (also: this is not beta read. i tried to self-edit as best as i could ksjfkdg.)
> 
> anyway! someone pls slap me for writing this instead of focusing on continuing to draft chapter twenty-* of my multi-chap cissamione fic lol l o l okay i'mmmm gonna go back to working on that again [rubs hands together]

Waking a few minutes before Andromeda, she treasures the even breaths against her skin as she blinks her eyes open to a pale, almost white light coming through the cracks between their blinds. It’s got that unique hue of moonlight bouncing off the still undisturbed layer of snow on the ground, and despite the variable heating charms placed inside of the home— in case the Muggle-installed gas heating goes out— Hermione can’t help but shiver a bit and press back slightly into Andy, snuggling closer, seeking out more warmth as she trails the fingers of her left hand over her girlfriend’s while they rest loosely around Hermione’s stomach. The newfound control she has over her good hand still astounds her, and she takes a moment to fiddle lightly with the pendant on the necklace that Andromeda gave her last night.

The conversation they had before falling asleep comes back to the forefront of her mind. She isn’t sure if Andy still wants it, but Hermione can’t help herself— she takes one of Andromeda’s wrists and raises the hand up to her mouth, slowly moving the fingers about until she’s able to slide Andy’s index finger around her lips and inside of her mouth where she can roll her tongue around the digit. She feels the older witch shift somewhat, but it takes half a minute more of lazy ministrations for Andromeda to begin to stir.

Andromeda’s finger twitches in her mouth, but Hermione’s most taken by the way her girlfriend softly exhales, releasing a small moan as she clearly registers what Hermione's doing to her. “Hermione…” she hears the woman’s rough, sleep-laden voice, and she finally— after one more purposeful suck— allows Andy’s finger to fall from her lips. Andy hums contentedly and wraps her arms snugly around her, pressing a warm kiss onto a patch of bare skin at the bottom of Hermione’s neck where her hair has parted overnight.

“You certainly know how to get a witch going before she even properly wakes up,” Andromeda murmurs into her skin before licking at it slowly, and before Hermione can even begin to reply she’s left whining by the gentle bite Andy places at the crook of her neck, slowly soothing it with her tongue right after. “Absolutely sinful you are, you know that, my wonder of a witch?”

Hermione answers by snaking her left hand down until she’s able to just barely tease at the top of Andy’s folds after bypassing her own. It gets her girlfriend's attention, though; Andy hisses in pleasure and rolls her hips against Hermione’s bum before tugging her closer. That’s all the invitation Hermione needs. She flips around until she and Andy are facing each other, and oh fucking Merlin, Andy’s so bloody beautiful upon first waking. She should be used to it by now, but she doubts she ever will be. Her curls are messier, which had reminded her of Bellatrix for only a few moments the first time she’d seen Andy in bed like this. That particular morning, Andy had quickly softened her eyes even more than they were naturally and with a raspy voice had reassured her, _“It’s only me, Hermione. Andy._ Your _Andy. Look at me, please. Tell me how I look different from her, love.”_

It’s an exercise they hardly have to partake in anymore, but Hermione’s deeply appreciative of how understanding Andromeda’s always been. She inclines her head to press a slow kiss to Andy’s lips, and she’s granted easy entrance into her mouth. Morning breath doesn’t deter; she only treasures the exploratory way their tongues meet and almost converse with each other, greeting. When they part, they’re both slightly breathless and Hermione takes in Andromeda’s eyes, the black of her pupils overtaking the warm brown irises.

“Shower?” Hermione questions, harkening back to their conversation from last night.

Andy rests her forehead against hers and groans out, her voice filled with unrestrained desire, “Shower. Yes. Please.”

They almost stumble their way into the en suite, and Hermione turns the shower on via the Muggle way, blanking for a moment on the fact that she could simply use her magic instead. She’s too preoccupied moving her gaze over the entirety of Andromeda’s naked body. While the water heats up— again, the Muggle way— Hermione closes the small distance between them and lowers herself to her knees. Andromeda takes in a sharp breath and meets her eyes, slowly exhaling as she intently watches Hermione grasp one of her thighs with her good hand, thankful yet again for the potion-filled pendant around her neck that stops the tremors, although she knows Andromeda’s never minded. It’s simply... refreshing, to have this much control over her own movements again. As for Andromeda's reaction, she doesn’t have to ask for her to spread her legs at all; Andy’s already doing it, her bottom lip tucked back by her teeth as she lowers her chin a little, her fingers trailing over her own breasts, teasing her hardened nipples as she watches Hermione.

Hermione looks back down, reverently eyeing Andromeda’s flushed, glistening centre, running her tongue over her lips before shifting forward a little more until she’s able to press it against parted folds. Above, fingers work their way through her hair and weave small paths through the roots as she licks Andromeda from entrance to clit. When she reaches the bundle of nerves, the same fingers grasp roughly at her and Andy’s thighs tremble. A shot of heat pulses through her core, and Hermione takes a few moments to gently circle the nub with what Andy has called her “clever tongue” in more ways than one. It pulls a delightfully strangled moan from the woman above her, and she cries out as Hermione begins to breach her entrance with the tip of said tongue.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Andy draws the word out breathlessly, then, “Hermione, we— we need to get in the shower.” Andromeda’s voice wavers, clearly torn, but they do already have the water going, and Hermione’s certain by now that it’s warm enough for them. Her girlfriend’s self-control is something somewhat enviable— she’s not sure she’d be able to ask Andy to stop right now if their positions were switched. But she withdraws her tongue, though doesn’t wipe her mouth of the wetness that’s gathered on and around her lips. Instead, she grins at Andy as she stands and sneaks a kiss to her mouth, letting her taste herself before they step into the large shower.

The warm water hits her back as she steps in, followed by Andy who takes some of the back portion of the area. There’s enough room that neither of them have to have water cascading down their bodies at all times, but— she wants this, wants the water to wash over her almost entirely. But she also wants Andy soaking wet in more ways than one, and she’s obliged as her girlfriend takes her in her arms and turns the two of them around so Andy’s body goes under the constant stream.

“You,” Andy kisses her cheek, pulling her under the water stream with her, “are,” another is pressed to the underside of her jaw, “a wonder,” and finally, the heat of Andromeda’s words spills into a bruising kiss to Hermione’s lips. The weight of Andromeda’s body against hers shifts as she’s pressed up to the side wall of the shower where Andy applies a subtle, somewhat giving, sticking charm to them both so neither of them won’t outright slip and fall. The last thing they need is an easily preventable injury. Once the charm is applied, she almost expresses that she should finish bringing Andy over the edge first, but the needy part of her wins out; she’s more than willing for Andy to bloody well ravish her now if that’s the route her girlfriend wants to take. She rubs her left hand over Andy’s upper arm until it’s removed, only to then have it magically pinned above her alongside her right arm, wrists tied by what feels like a silky rope, but when she glances up as best she, she sees nothing. Invisible, then.

Andy’s eyes are almost pitch black, but there’s only a soothing, steady, _welcomed_ presence there as the older woman gentle teases at dampened curls just above her sex. “Are you all right with this?” Andy’s soft voice comes as Hermione’s breathing comes somewhat laboured from sheer want. Andy… doesn’t know for certain it’s from want, though, and she— gods, Hermione could cry from happiness at knowing this woman like she does so intimately, but knows now isn’t the time. She merely rests her forehead against Andy’s shoulder and breathes out, “Yes, yes— it’s, want you _so much_ , Andy.” Her hips roll against Andromeda’s as she picks her head back up, making direct eye contact. Letting her know with her body as well that this position, this giving of control, is what she desires. It's not as if they haven't already done this position elsewhere, either.

“Please,” she says, her tone almost begging. Andy brings a hand up and runs it through Hermione’s wet hair as her other hand turns the showerhead to hit their bodies just right, keeping them warm but not directly covering them. Before she can register the slight difference in the force of the water coming down upon their bodies, two fingers trail around her upper thighs, then over her mound, avoiding her slit. The sticking charm allows for her to spread her legs a bit more, and she instantly does so, beckoning Andy on further.

She doesn’t waste much time before her thumb slides through her, goes from grazing her clit to stroking her entrance. Andromeda hums, subtly remarking on the difference between the water from the showerhead and Hermione’s wetness. She knows it’s much slicker, and she can only watch with mounting desire as Andy bends down, rests her face between her legs, and smells Hermione's arousal, a smirk playing on her lips as she looks back up, nuzzling the side of her face against Hermione's hip. “Salazar, you smell absolutely _divine_ , my dear one.”

If she wasn’t charmed to stay mostly upright, her knees would have completely buckled at those words alone, at that endearment alone. It does things to her, and she knows that Andy knows from the new rush of wetness that comes forth from her core. As Andy stands again, their eyes meeting, there’s so much said without words. Hermione’s jaw slackens ever so slightly, and Andy knows it’s a sign. As she leans forward, grabs gentle hold of one of Hermione’s shoulders and captures Hermione’s mouth with her own, two of Andy’s fingers simultaneously enter her easily.

“Andy, Andy, _Andy_ ,” Hermione pants, a cry of pleasure overcoming her as a thumb presses so damn teasingly at her clit, matching the rhythm of fingers slowly pumping her, sending her muscles to contract around them. It’s the best kind of nerve-wracking, how frustratingly yet captivatingly _slow_ Andromeda is going. It feels like forever until a third finger slips inside with the first two, while finally Andy’s thumb rolls Hermione’s clit like she loves it, driving her desperation higher. All she knows now is _want, want, want_ while her hips rock, seeking more and more friction, her orgasm building low in her abdomen. It’s a dull fire, aching, but the ache flares and sputters when Andromeda’s fingers slowly still around her and she whines pathetically, needing movement.

“Shh, love,” Andy soothes, rubbing their noses together affectionately while she slides a tantalising fingertip down Hermione’s neck. “Would you like me to finish you with our new… implement? Like you did for me last night?”

Hermione’s eyes widen and fucking _hell_ , she hasn’t even given it thought, but—

“Yes—” she breathes out, “Yes, yes, _yes_ , Andy— I didn’t even know until—”

She cuts herself off as the phallic instrument appears, summoned by Andromeda without her noticing. She gapes as Andy grasps the near lifelike shaft, only different in colour and perhaps somewhat in texture from a cock naturally attached to a person. Well, that, and it lacks any bollocks. It’s—

“Wait, why is it… flaccid? It wasn’t last night, it—”

Andromeda chuckles and tells her that it’s a setting on the object, something one has to turn on with their magic. She tells her that she hadn’t informed her of it last night because it wasn’t something _that_ important to her, but, “It’s worth trying out,” Andy shrugs with a smile blossoming. “In this setting, it reacts in time with your own arousal, stimulated by one’s clit. Just… just watch, love.” And she does, as the force of the water from the showerhead strengthens again and Andy works to attach the toy to herself. It goes on easier than last night, thanks to getting that first experience behind them, and… _oh_.

She’s not really had much if any in the way of direct experience with pricks already present on a person, but she knows _enough_ from various sources. The toy immediately begins to swell and lengthen from Andy’s aroused state, and Hermione watches in near awe as the shaft rises and twitches before she hears Andy shudder, and Hermione grabs hold of her girlfriend as she comes from the initial melding of the toy’s magic with her own. The first time doesn’t include a string of imitation come, but god, _fuck_ she wants Andy inside of her because now that it’s merged with her witch, her _love_ , it’s as much a part of her as everything else that she finds so beautiful about the woman.

But first, she finds she _needs_ to touch Andy, who has at last had the mind to release her hands from the spelled bind above her head that she’d previously placed them in. She takes the shaft in her good hand while resting the dead weight of her right on Andy’s shoulder. Slowly, just as Andy had done to her previously, she strokes the length of the cock, earning a soft cry from the older witch. Her name flows effortlessly from between Andromeda’s lips and Hermione kisses her, nibbles at her lower lip as she begins to roll featherlight touches around the head of the toy. She feels it swell a bit more, and she smiles against Andy’s lips.

Once Andy begins to almost instinctively rut against her, Hermione trails her fingers off the cock, _Andy’s_ cock, and meets her girlfriend’s heady gaze. “Can I… ?” Andy murmurs lowly, heat rising on her face.

Hermione caresses Andy’s cheek, her thumb swiping over the flushed skin. Andy rolls her hips again and chews on her lower lip, eyes squeezing shut, so clearly aching and desperate in a way she’s not experienced before. “You don’t even have to ask,” and Hermione hesitates for only a moment before she whispers next to Andy’s ear, “ _Fuck me_ , Andy.” And to bring the point home, she takes hold of the shaft and guides it towards her opening, placing the tip so it just barely grazes her, knowing she’s only increasing the tension and temptation for Andy tenfold. It isn’t as if she's unaffected either, by the way she feels herself lightly rubbing the head, her mind occupied only by the thought, the desire of wanting to be filled so badly.

She hisses with pleasure as Andy heaves a breath and subtly moves the head of her cock around, gathering Hermione’s plentiful evidence of arousal even though it’s not even _needed_ at this point, but the gesture is appreciated. Then, moments later, as if Andromeda can hardly restrain herself any longer, the tip of her shaft enters her, but she does so gently, giving her ample time to adjust around the girth of it filling her in a way she’s never been filled before. Andy’s eyes are blazing with barely suppressed lust, and as soon as the toy has completely sheathed itself inside of Hermione, she urges Andy on with a hushed exhale of, “ _Don’t hold yourself back_.” An almost feral hunger engulfs Andromeda’s gaze as she begins to pull out, only to swiftly thrust back into her at the last minute with a grunt, and then… she sets an almost overwhelming pace, but balances it in the most gentle of ways possible, murmuring words of sincere love between kisses laid on Hermione’s body from her face down to her neck and collarbone as her arms are held by Andy's hands.

Hermione moans, her inner walls welcoming the hard thrusts as Andy takes her non-functioning right hand in her left, placing it against the shower wall, spreading her fingers to entwine them with her own as she leans forward, pumping her cock, her pants almost coming in time with each push. But she doesn’t treat that sole act as if it’s the only thing that matters— no, she takes her right hand and after trailing it down Hermione's left, sending a thrill through her, she finds Hermione’s clit in an instant, and, “god, oh _god,_ Andy!” Hermione’s toes begin to curl and her muscles relax further, allowing Andy to go just a bit deeper.

“Fuck, Hermione, love you.” Andy utters it like an invocation, and Hermione turns her gaze to the side, seeing how Andy's grasping their hands together tighter as she fingers Hermione’s clit in that certain way, softly flicking it and then rubbing in fast circles. She groans, unable to even speak at the combination of Andy’s ministrations alongside her temporary cock thrusting into her, grazing the spongy tissue not far from her entrance. She’s getting close, she feels it intimately as her walls continue to contract around Andromeda, as her mind processes what she cannot feel in her right hand, the care Andy still gives to a part of her body that others don’t even want to _address_ nor hardly _look at_ causing a wave of pure love for this woman to wash over her. It’s not until Andy pants out her name along with a few choice swears, though, her hips stuttering as she comes inside of Hermione, that Hermione’s walls flutter soon after while Andy continues to rub at her clit, pushing her higher and higher to her peak. It hits her as Andy is recovering from her own orgasm, but she doesn’t pull out until Hermione finishes.

When she does, Hermione’s thankful again for the sticking charm, because she’s been rendered absolutely boneless. She meets Andy’s eyes almost wearily, but a spent and more than satisfied smile graces her face, and her girlfriend tucks a hand behind Hermione’s neck, lightly scraping the skin there as she kisses various spots on her face, ending with a kiss to the edge of her lips. As she removes her hands, letting Hermione’s right arm fall back down to her side, she also removes the sticking charm and catches Hermione’s form before she can accidentally fall and hurt herself.

She chuckles good-naturedly and carefully moves them a little ways until they’re fully back under the showerhead. With a manoeuvre of one of her hands, part of the shower wall is transfigured into what appears like a built-in seating area, large enough for the both of them to sit side-by-side, and she effortlessly summons the handle of the shower head into her right hand, dousing them both before slowing the flow until it’s nearly turned off. Soap is summoned to her hands then, and she softly asks Hermione to turn around.

With her back to Andy, it’s easier to ask the nagging question at the back of her mind. “Why do you still have the toy in you? Not that— not that it’s an issue, I just…”

“Curious, hm?” Andy practically purrs next to her ear. “I fancy saving the simple encore for outside of this shower, darling. That’s all.” But somehow Hermione senses that’s decidedly not all, that it’s _not_ all that simple, and she groans at the implications, whimpering rather pathetically as she feels Andy’s cock stiffen against her back again. She wants to turn around, wants to put her mouth around Andy, wants—

 _Oh_ , those fingers scratching at her scalp are bloody sinful. It’s shampoo being worked into her hair now before Andy washes the remnants off her hands and returns to soaping up the rest of what she can reach on Hermione’s body. For what she can’t easily reach, she applies the soap to a loofah and Hermione finishes it off, relishing the way Andy’s hands wrap around her shoulders despite the soap still on them, and, “oh my _god_ , Andy,” she whispers as her girlfriend’s hands slide down from her shoulders, slipping along her sides to find purchase on her hip bones. Her touch is featherlight, erotic.

After her body is cleansed and the shampoo is rinsed from her hair, Hermione switches places with Andy and begins the same process on her body. Her slightly fuller body, small scars littering her back that Hermione cannot help but press her lips to, whispering words of love and care, ending with, “Love you, love you _so bloody much_ , Andy,” her breath caressing her lover’s neck before she lays a kiss near Andromeda’s pulse point. Andy shivers from the words, the contact, or both, Hermione doesn’t care which, only adores the reactions she’s able to pull from her. She wants to make Andy feel so good for the rest of their lives, and the thought of a lifetime spent with the older woman causes her chest to flutter with some bright, warm emotion.

Several minutes later, both of them dried yet still nude, Andy’s leaning against their bedroom door, her prick hard and twitching, and it mesmerises Hermione almost completely. Her mind vaguely catalogues that she wants to study the magic behind the toy more closely, but some time later when it’s on neither of them, and likely when Andy isn’t home, because… Merlin, this is— she shakes herself of such academic thoughts, useless for now as Andromeda so clearly _needs_ her. It only takes a fraction of a moment for her hand to wrap around the shaft, but she’s already done this, hasn’t she?

She keeps the hand still, pulling a needy whine from Andy until the whine transforms into a cry of ecstasy from Hermione wrapping her lips around the head instead. Several swear words tumble from Andromeda’s mouth and she just manages to sputter out, “Bed, love, need to— can’t keep standing, oh my… _fuck!_ ” Hermione pulls her mouth off with a small pop and quickly stands, having enough presence of mind to lead Andy over to sit on the edge of the still unmade mattress.

Taking Andy into her mouth again, she slides her tongue across the underside of the shaft and looks into darkened eyes before starting to properly suck. Andromeda cries out again, then takes both of Hermione’s hands in hers, still never minding the dead weight of the right, and squeezes them in question before she slowly begins to fuck Hermione’s mouth. Hermione squeezes back with her left hand, reassuring Andy that this is fine, absolutely _more_ than fine, with a motion from her left thumb against the pale skin. The shaft plunges deeper into her mouth, pumping at a faster pace as Hermione’s cheeks are blissfully hollowed out.

“Merlin, you’re— you’re beautiful, Hermione, such a good girl,” Andromeda breathes raggedly, “And taking me so, so well.” She preens at the praise and does what she can to communicate to her girlfriend that she can go a bit further, her gag reflex is there but not terrible, she knows she can handle some more before it fully kicks in. Andy responds to her magic reaching out by pushing in slightly deeper, groaning at the sensations of the wet and hot mouth around the toy so intimately connected to her clit. She begins to thrust again, grunting with each push forward, and Hermione feels wetness sticking to the top of her inner thighs. She needs— she moans around the shaft and removes her left hand from Andy’s hold, aching for some relief of her own. Her fingers deftly know where to go, how to pleasure her swollen bundle of nerves.

It’s as she rocks into her fingers that two things happen in almost instantaneous succession: Andy comes with a cry into her mouth, and while Hermione is swallowing down the fabricated come that tastes surprisingly the right amount of sweet, the bedroom door opens to reveal Narcissa Malfoy, raising her head as she says, “I’ve put Teddy in his playr— oh, _fuck_ , lock and ward your sodding door!” A string of colourful expletives Hermione never thought she’d hear uttered from Narcissa’s lips follows the slamming of the door, and both Hermione and Andromeda look at each other for a moment before Andy bursts out laughing and Hermione does the same after milking the last of the toy’s come, Andy pulling the shaft out of her mouth.

Somehow, she’s even _more_ turned on now and she’s not quite sure how to feel about that despite the delightful hammering of her heart answering for her, but as Andy moves to take the toy off her own sex, Hermione manages to still her with the left hand she’d been touching herself with by wrapping it around Andy’s wrist that's holding the base of the shaft. She looks up at her through half-lidded eyes and gently shakes her head. “Get me off first, then I wanna… see you, like I was. Last night.” She wants to be in that particular post-orgasmic haze, watching as Andy comes from simply taking the toy off her body.

Andy understands and gets to work helping Hermione lay back on the mattress, legs spread, centre practically dripping with her arousal. She’s so sensitive that she bucks into the slightest touch of Andy’s fingers on her, and she comes almost embarrassingly quickly, but knows it’s because she was already so bloody worked up, though a part of her mind also acknowledges how exhilarated she’d gotten from someone walking in on them. Even if it _was_ Narcissa and they’ve essentially scarred the poor woman to some degree. She bites down on her left hand to muffle the scream that wants to release itself as it hits her that they haven’t done as Narcissa had said, and they don’t need Teddy coming in here, even if he’s somewhat likely to still not remember it when he’s older.

While she’s in that post-orgasmic haze, still coming down, she gathers the barest presence of mind to reach out and tug at Andy’s shaft a few times, eliciting the most tempting of whines from her love. She wants to hear Andy beg, and she gets it. Soft breaths, an open and honest gaze, and a needy whimper as her girlfriend softly groans out, “ _Please_ , Hermione, I— !” Hermione barely manages to place a hushing spell on Andy so only she hears a quiet version of the scream that tears itself from the woman’s throat as the toy is pulled out of her and she squirts onto Hermione’s good hand, all the way up most of her forearm. Bloody fuck hell. She can’t keep herself from licking down the length of it, gathering some of Andromeda’s come in her mouth, savouring the slightly tangy flavour to it.

It takes a minute for Andy to return to her wits, but when she does she surveys what she’s left on Hermione’s hand and arm and blows out a slow breath. “Did _not_ think I was capable of that,” she murmurs with some awe. “This toy is definitely worth the Galleons put down on it.” And though Hermione’s first instinct is to still tell her she didn’t have to do that, probably from spending so much time with the Weasleys, she’s clamped down the instinct rather well after all the times Andromeda’s reminded her that she’s a _Black_ by birth, and after she and Narcissa had properly reconciled, Narcissa easily welcomed her back into the family, restoring her place on the House of Black lineage tree and adding her back to the main family account. And that wasn’t even mentioning the not-so-small amount in the Tonks’ account.

So she only thanks Andy for surprising them both, truly, with the sheer magic of such a shared gift. Hermione pulls Andromeda in for a hug, placing a kiss to the side of her throat, but soon after the moment is cut short by the appearance of Narcissa’s Patronus, informing them, “Yes, I am still here. Waiting. Do join me in your sitting room within the next five minutes or I will not hesitate to find ways to get both of you back for what you made me witness.” The translucent silver fox slinks away and vanishes through the door, leaving Hermione scrambling to make herself look presentable while Andy simply shoves on undergarments as well as a pair of grey Muggle sweatpants and a cosy green sweater that Molly Weasley had knitted for her the previous Christmas.

Andy spreads her arms wide as they enter the sitting room four and a half minutes later, smirking at the scowl that’s appeared on Narcissa’s face. “Cissa, my darling little sister, thank you so much for taking care of Teddy last night. I do hope that he behaved himself in your manor.”

Narcissa sniffs almost haughtily and waves a flippant hand. “He certainly knew how to better conduct himself than the two of you. Or have you so readily forgotten the lessons learned in Slytherin when it comes to properly warding for privacy when copulating?” Hermione covers her mouth with her good hand, but it’s not enough to hide the wide grin overtaking the lower half of her face. _Copulating? Who sodding well says that?_ Narcissa Malfoy, clearly.

“You’re one to talk, Cissa. Did you even think to knock as we were taught, because neither Hermione nor myself are deaf or hard-of-hearing, and we did not hear anyone announce themselves before opening the door.” And as soon as the words are out of Andromeda’s mouth, Hermione wholeheartedly believes that she’s cornered her little sister. Narcissa only folds her hands on her lap rather delicately, though, and purses her lips.

“Perhaps I was of the mind that _reasonable_ witches would think to add some type of magic if they were otherwise _occupied_ , and therefore upon not finding any, I found it prudent to go ahead and try to inform you in-person that I had returned with your grandson?” Andromeda sits back on the sitting-room’s sofa next to her sister and pats her on the knee affectionately, but the Cheshire grin on her face says something else entirely. “Regardless, do ward your own bedroom door in the future, if only for Teddy’s sake. He will begin to retain more and more memories as he matures.”

Hermione leans her elbows on the back of a recliner, watching the interaction between Andy and Narcissa as if it’s an engrossing match of singles’ tennis. While she would normally be completely embarrassed by someone— especially Narcissa Malfoy— finding her in such a compromising position, Andy’s pacified any awkward atmosphere, and she knows deep down that the blonde witch would never use this sort of information against her only living sister. She’d put up with… no, she won’t think about _her_. Not now. But she— oh, it still happens despite her wishes. She tenses her jaw almost painfully so without even realising, but Andy’s noticed and is perched in front of her now, a knee resting on the cushion of the recliner in an instant, leaning towards her.

“Love?” Andy gently asks, cupping Hermione’s jaw and stroking it with her thumb, “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” Hermione blinks and settles her gaze on tender, concerned eyes. She gives a regrettable strained smile and shrugs but does release some of the tension.

“Just got lost in my head for a moment, that’s all. I’ll go check on Teddy while you finish catching up with Mrs Malfoy, all right?” Andy’s eyes don’t lose the concern in them, but she lets go of Hermione’s face and gives a subtle nod, and Hermione’s sure she won’t let this slide. Only postpone the inevitable discussion that will bring up, yet again, the knowledge that she’s still not completely past what Andromeda’s other sister did to her. She highly doubts she ever will be, but perhaps with more time she can make a greater peace with it. Andy’s doing everything she can to help her reach that place, she knows it, she just— she pushes everything aside as best she’s able and focuses on being in the moment with Andy’s grandson when she reaches his playroom.

For around fifteen minutes, she spends time playing with Teddy and watching him play on his own. He’s somehow gotten both the boisterous nature of his mother and the contemplative aura that had surrounded his father, and it’s a sight to see the toddler knock over a tower of soft blocks, going from trying to grab at them in the air for a bit until he just plops back on his bottom, deciding to at last simply watch in wondrous awe as they float about. And then he turns to her, asks her to read to him. Once she’s got him in her lap, a book open in front of them with a charm to turn the pages when she needs it, he alternates between listening intently to her voice and then squealing whenever she sneaks a quick tickle attack to his tummy with her left hand before wriggling in her right-armed grasp and whining, “Auntie Hermes, _stooooop_ , wanna read.”

“Still calling you that instead of trying to say your whole name, huh?” a soft, teasing voice resounds from behind her. Hermione turns her head, Teddy still enraptured by the pastel moving drawing of a sphinx on the page he’d picked the book up to get a closer look at, and smiles at Andromeda. She’s leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. As for her girlfriend’s question, she shrugs in answer for the moment and returns her attention to a Teddy Lupin who’s asking her about riddles and how sphinxes can be so smart _and_ speak like them when Andy comes in and saves her from twenty plus questions by bending down in front of Teddy and opening her arms up to him.

Finally taking notice of his grandmother, Teddy calls out, “Nana!” and drops the picture book unceremoniously, but Hermione manages to save it from any damage from the little boy’s body as he runs into Andy’s arms with a subtle exertion of her wandless and nonverbal magic. It slides over towards the boy’s bookcase and is left leaning against the spines of other books, reminding her that they have yet to finish it. Andy gathers the three and a half year old in her arms and he wraps his arms around her neck, nuzzling into her like the nana bear she is. Or rather, a snake. But a cuddly snake. Most of the time. Almost always with Teddy, though.

“Now, Teddy,” Andy starts, and gently nudges the boy’s head back to look into her eyes. Hermione feels her heart stutter in her chest at the sight of her speaking to him, tone firm but still loving as she stands up with him still nestled in her arms. “Your Auntie Cissa told me that you were a little bit of a bad boy last night and refused to take a bath. Now why was that?” And she doesn’t say anything more as she clearly makes to walk to the bathroom closest to Teddy’s room, but Hermione knows. She _knows_.

“‘Cause didn’t have Wolfie,” Teddy reluctantly answers in an almost mumbling voice. Hermione meets Andy’s eyes and gives a short nod, grateful for another distraction as she eases around the two of them to get to the loo first and fill the tub as well as summon Wolfie. When Andromeda comes into the room with Teddy, the boy furrows his little brows and huffs, adamant that he will _not_ take a bath without his Wolfie. Hermione, from her temporary perch on the rim of the tub, holds up the charmed toy that’s able to present as either a rubber toy for bathtime or a stuffie for cuddles and sleep time. She’s got it in its stuffie state now and intends for it to stay that way.

When Teddy reaches out for the toy with greedy little fingers, Hermione frowns and shakes her head softly. “You can have Wolfie in the room with you, but as a stuffie to watch over you, not as a rubber toy to have in the bath with you, all right?” And she’s not sure whether Teddy’s maturing ever so slightly, or if it’s simply because he’s growing a tad tired, but he surprisingly yet thankfully doesn’t put up much of a fight before undressing himself, only needing help with the button on his trousers. They remind him that he should be proud that he can handle zippers all by himself, that buttons will come soon enough with some more practice, but that’ll come later when a warm and cosy bath isn’t already waiting for him.

Once Teddy’s in the tub, bubbles surrounding him, they let him play a little until he begins to visibly tire. It makes it easier for Hermione to help Andy out with soaping the boy up with her functional hand while Andy uses both of her hands to thoroughly shampoo the child’s hair, which stays a soothing blue like Narcissa’s eyes because he’s simply too knackered to tease his grandmother by using his limited but still rather powerful metamorphmagus powers to change the texture, colour, or length of his hair. It’s restful, washing little Teddy, watching Andy’s maternal instincts on full display with her grandson.

The boy is more than ready for a long nap after they’re done washing him, letting him dry himself off. Once he’s got his pyjamas on for a mid-morning nap, a thumb stuck in his mouth— which they allow for the time being, she also acquiesces to his request for her to carry him back to his small bed. Andy helps her situate him comfortably within her left arm, and he securely wraps his arms around her neck, but not too tightly. More and more now, Andy doesn’t have to remind him to slacken his grip on her, that she’d hold him if she didn’t trust Hermione, “and I trust her with my whole heart, my dear boy.” Hermione’s heart soars at the surety in Andromeda’s tone as she says it.

It’s only as Hermione goes to tuck him in, forsaking magic to use her good hand, that Teddy wriggles around impatiently and whines, “Nana uses both her hands, Auntie Hermes, why—” But he doesn’t finish expressing himself, though his mouth keeps working only to produce nought a sound. Hermione’s let go of the sheets that she’s in the midst of securing around the toddler, and she lifts her eyes to Andy. _Both her hands. Both her hands. Both her—_

A pitiful, keening sound escapes her, and she can’t take the way Andy’s eyes soften towards her before they flare with anger towards Teddy. “Don’t,” is all she manages to croak out before she can no longer stay put, rushing to leave the room before Teddy sees her crack. She knows he didn’t mean it. She knows he hasn't fully been told the story yet, knows that he’s only a child, but the unvoiced continuation of his thoughts leaves ample room for her mind to spiral from what he could have reasonably asked. But what she winds up going back to repeating in her head is what she’s sure he was about to ask.

_Why can’t you?_

She knows he held no malicious intent, only the curiosity befitting someone his age, but it doesn’t stop the flashbacks and the memories of before— of effortlessly switching her wand from her left hand to her right while practising with the DA in fifth year, of writing notes and essays with her left hand while she checked her spellwork using her right. Of so much that she can no longer have any hope of doing ever again.

* * *

A few days later Andromeda finds herself suppressing another discontented sigh after Hermione side-along apparates her to the closest area from her girlfriend’s parents’ home in Muggle London that’s obscured from Muggles’ sight. They’ve not agreed on how she handled the situation with Teddy after what he’d said to Hermione, and despite how much she wants everything to go back to how it had been before, she’s still of the mind (the “obstinate” mind, according to Hermione) that her approach to disciplining her own grandson was perfectly fine. Or at least that’s what she keeps telling herself, despite the uneasiness that’s settled in her gut at the memory of Teddy’s heartbroken face and crying state she’d reluctantly left him to think about what he’d done in. Which... has left her and Hermione at a standstill for the past couple of days, but he _is_ her grandson, not Hermione’s. She clenches her teeth as that feeble excuse passes through her mind again, as another image of Teddy so distraught passes through her mind’s eye.

The Grangers are not oblivious to the palpable change in the atmosphere between the two witches, but thankfully they mention nothing of it until their daughter excuses herself to visit the loo. After explaining what’s happened between them, Andy can’t help but gulp at the older couple’s knowing gazes, even if they’re only about ten or so years her senior. They _appear_ much older than that, considering they’re Muggles and age faster (or is it she that ages slower?), and she almost feels like she’s about to get a lecture from grandparents who quote, _know these things much better_ than she ever could hope to _._ Which, it turns out, they _do_ , but not because of their age, and it’s not a lecture they give her, but words clearly chosen in careful consideration.

“Andy, dear, have you paused to consider Hermione’s lack of input in coming to a decision on the consequences doled out for something he missaid to _her_?” Hermione’s mother, Jean, helpfully supplies while her husband’s hand rests on her thigh. Andy misses those casually intimate touches from Hermione. She chews on the inside of her lip and wrings her hands. They… she hasn’t thought of that, and she’s not sure how that’s escaped her mind, but Anthony Granger only reaches out with his free hand and pats her on the knee.

Chuckling softly, he offers, “Overthinker, aren’t you? Let me guess, you’ve been hyperfocused on entirely the wrong aspects.” He turns to his wife then and almost sheepishly admits, “I’ve done the same, haven’t I, hon?” Andy watches in near fascination as Jean wraps an arm around her husband and ruffles up his hair, knowing from her years with Ted that their Muggle patients would be amused yet somewhat perplexed at the dentists’ non-professional behaviours. Even though they’re in their own home.

 _“There’s just some professions you think, ‘they can’t lead normal lives out of here, ‘cause all I see ‘em in are these professional, uppity roles.’” Ted’s face swims in front of her, his lopsided grin, the way he scratched at his beard as he said these words. “Like I doubt you can picture our old professors lounging about in their knickers at home, eh?”_ Gods, she still feels the same pangs of missing him. Lessened in frequency, but she knows well enough that grief doesn’t have an expiration date.

When Hermione returns from the loo, Andy’s surprised by her girlfriend’s left hand moving to rest on her thigh. The squeeze she applies to it almost feels too intimate for the woman’s parents to witness, but Andromeda knows it’s only because they haven’t touched in this sort of fashion since their… disagreement. She doesn’t want to call it a row. She’s had proper rows before, mainly with Bellatrix when they were still on the last threads of speaking terms, and what’s occurred between her and Hermione is nothing so serious. Nothing that could threaten to splinter, to sever their relationship.

Though she misses her wand, has left it back in a secured drawer in their bedroom out of respect for Hermione’s parents, it’s nothing compared to the ache in her chest that appears when Hermione removes her hand from her thigh. A simple touch like that has rendered her emotions into something molten, desperate for more, but she needs to, _wants_ to properly apologise first. For disregarding Hermione’s opinion, her input on how they should have handled Teddy’s misstep _together_. And perhaps— perhaps she honestly _had_ gone too rough on her grandson, punishing him in the heat of the moment without taking the time to talk things over with Hermione first.

But after returning to her girlfriend that day, she’d only felt bolstered in her decision-making because of the state she’d found Hermione in. It’d taken the utmost care, the softest, _barest_ of touches and tentative words to draw Hermione out of her horrible memories and back to the present, back to _her_. Like a grievously wounded animal she’d found Hermione curled up on the floor against the footboard of their bed, her right arm gone entirely limp instead of merely the hand. As if she was trying to consciously forget she even had the injury, even _had_ a right arm and hand. It was only after Andromeda set down on her right side and continuously rubbed the length of her right arm, including the hand she knew Hermione couldn’t feel, that her love had released a pent-up, heart-wrenching sob.

And she’d _thought_ she’d done the right thing by taking Wolfie away from her grandson, but when she told Hermione once her girlfriend had calmed, it’d all gone right to shit. All the progress in opening Hermione up to her again after nearly losing her to the memories of her older sister and Malfoy Manor. She still viscerally remembers Hermione glowering at her, lips drawn into a tight line, accusing her of going _too far_. And she’s only realising now that Hermione had meant those words in more than one way. Too far in taking that particular, most cherished toy away from him, but also too far on her own, not even thinking that Hermione would want to have a hand in how they addressed what Teddy had mistakenly done.

The toddler in question is spending time with the Weasleys at the Burrow while she and Hermione visit with the Grangers. She watches on as Hermione hands her gifts to her parents, and that’s when Andromeda abruptly remembers that she’d planned to go shopping with Hermione for a gift appropriate for the couple over the weekend, but after their disagreement, it simply—

“Mum, Dad, this is from Andy and me,” she hears Hermione say. Had they gone shopping earlier in the month and she’s forgotten? She’s not _that_ old. Thankfully, any question about the state of her memory is cleared up as she _knows_ she wasn’t there when Hermione bought a… recent book that compiles Wizarding research on human teeth and their treatment. “I know you don’t fancy magic much,” Hermione starts.

“To say the least,” Jean murmurs, but it lacks the bite as she watches her daughter gently open the book. Hermione’s shoulders tense for a moment, Andy notices. She wants to reach out and touch her. Massage the tension away. She curls her fingers into her palms instead and grits her teeth, reminding herself that it’s not the right time. Again, she wants to, _needs_ to properly apologise and make things right with Hermione first. Once they’re back home; not a moment sooner, not a moment later.

“Right,” Hermione responds almost sheepishly. “But there’s plenty in here that doesn’t exclusively correspond to magic, and Andy as you both know used to be married to a Muggle-born wizard. There’s some overlap between how specialised Healers treat dental injuries and illnesses and how dentists like yourselves do. We figured you might enjoy parsing through the information in here, comparing and contrasting the similarities and differences. And if you think there’s something not included that should be, I’d be more than willing to share it with the Healers and researchers at St. Mungo’s.”

Anthony Granger leans back in his seat on the sofa and stretches his arms above his head, cracking a small grin. “Oh Christ, you’ve got us both there. Research material this’ll be. And it’s not got any hidden magic in it? Not like that, er, mad monster book from several years ago?” Andy represses a snicker, recalling that outlandish yet utterly believable tale of Rubeus Hagrid’s choice of text for his first year teaching Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts during Hermione’s third year.

“No, no way,” Hermione laughs. “It’s completely tame, Dad.”

Hermione’s father snorts at the idea of a book being called tame in such a manner, and even her mother cracks a tiny smile. She glances at Hermione and finds the other witch with a thoroughly hopeful gaze to her as she watches her father slowly turn through a few pages, already taking a moment to nudge his wife and show something to her. Andromeda only selfishly wishes for her love’s good mood to last, because she’s not sure how far her so-called Slytherin charms will take her this time.

* * *

They lock their Floo anytime the both of them are out, which is why at first Andy’s not surprised that they’ve got a few messages waiting for them when they return home. It’s when she allows them through that she almost regrets doing it while Hermione’s in the room with her, hanging her fur-collared cloak on the coat and cloak rack in the entryway to their home. Andy jumps back as the distressed voice of Harry Potter comes through the open message line.

 _“Andy, Hermione, either of you! Teddy’s suddenly going spare over not having his Wolfie with him, and no substitutes are bloody well working. Can you open your Floo and bring the stuffie over? He’s—”_ and the message fades, only to be replaced by Draco’s agitated voice this time.

_“Aunt Andy, Hermione. Teddy’s worn himself out crying. Mum got over here trying to help while you two are still Salazar knows where. She remembers what Wolfie looks like and managed to transfigure something, but it’s not going to hold up. And Teddy’s smart. He’ll figure it out. Bring the damn thing over.”_

The last message, sent about forty minutes ago, is from her sister, and Narcissa’s darkly clipped voice chills her to the bone.

_“I will not hesitate to break through every single one of your wards, Andromeda, if you and Hermione do not arrive at the Burrow within the hour. I know what transpired.”_

In her peripheral vision, she spots Hermione tugging her outer cloak back on. When she finally meets Hermione’s eyes, she’s met with an almost icy indifference that eerily reminds her of Narcissa. “This should have never happened.” Hermione’s voice is dull, yet somehow cracking at the edges. Andy glances down, notices the way Hermione’s left hand is flexing nervously, not from the tremors, though— she’s seen that Hermione’s at least continued to wear the necklace all this time. She swallows around the growing lump in her throat.

“I’m,” she starts, her voice hoarse, “I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

Hermione releases a tattered laugh. “Save your apologies for _your_ grandson, Andromeda.” It’s the emphasis on the word ‘your’ that first draws her attention, but then coupled with the biting use of her full given name, Andy clenches her jaw and understands that she’s mucked things up even worse than she was thinking after their decent visit with the Grangers. She runs her fingers harshly over her face.

“I _will_ apologise profusely to Teddy and do whatever possible to make this right with him, but you deserve my apology as well, Hermione.” She looks through the spaces between her fingers as they still lie over her face and finds Hermione still staring her down, which… is honestly better than her running off. A step, however small. Andy drops her hands from her face and slowly closes her eyes, breathing in through her nose, out her mouth. Trying to calm down, choose her words carefully. She needs Hermione to know that she… “I reacted in the heat of the moment. Unlike myself, unlike a Slytherin. I…” she trails off, swallows. “I saw how you reacted and I wanted to run after you right then, but I was so angry— not at Teddy, but myself for not somehow preventing him from saying such things.”

“Even though he’s a kid, a _toddler_ , and we can’t expect him to be… what, _perfect_? You can’t even expect that from fully-grown _adults_ ,” Hermione scathingly, rightfully puts forth. Andy barely stops herself from flinching, because… gods, how can Hermione read her so easily? It’s as terrifying as it is refreshing, because she hasn’t had _this_ since Ted died. He always knew her moods, how to respond to her, when she needed some tough love, and… But she can’t lose herself in memories of him right now. She can’t. She chews on her lower lip and gives a short nod.

“We can’t, you’re right.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and begins to pace. “Fuck, I was treating him like my parents expected of myself and my sisters as children! Perfect little purebloods instead of living human _children_ who make mistakes. Merlin, even my mother would take away some of our prized possessions when we— bollocks it all.” She hisses through her teeth and is glad she still hasn’t gone to pick up her wand again, but her magic is prickling angrily under her skin, eager for something to channel it through. “Nymphadora would… she would… she’d— she’d _kill_ me if she knew how I’ve hurt her son, oh god. I never—” She can’t help the sob that works its way out of her throat, even though she fights it.

Hermione’s left hand upon her arm doesn’t register, but after several long moments, as her breaths come a little easier, what does register is that her girlfriend is hugging her for the first time in a few days. And it’s not a loose hug, either, but an almost bone-crushing embrace. The tears continue to fall from her eyes in spite of Hermione, though, because she doesn’t deserve such comfort after displaying such utter weakness, a small voice inside of her head tells her. But Hermione stays, she _stays_ , and eventually she begins to decipher what’s being murmured by the witch holding her. The truth, that yes, her daughter would be put off and angry, but she wouldn’t _kill_ her for reverting to how she’d been brought up.

“She’d come around, Andy, she would. You never should’ve gone through what you did as a child, _never_. And sometimes we do, unintentionally, act like our parents in some of the worst ways.” Hermione’s right forearm rubs tenderly against her back and she hiccoughs, then releases another cry as she pictures her daughter, rightfully cross with her, but ultimately being the damned wonderful Hufflepuff she was and forgiving her once she’d learned her lesson and gone to make things up with Teddy. Nymphadora had known how her mother was raised, known what had led to the seemingly uncrossable chasm that had formed between her and the rest of her blood family save for Sirius until he’d been sentenced to Azkaban without trial.

Hermione’s lips graze her pulse point and Andy draws in a sharp breath, then sniffles before finally wrapping her arms snugly around her girlfriend. “Still doesn’t excuse how I hurt my grandson. _Our_ little boy. I should have come to you, asked how you wanted to handle it. He’s as much yours as he is mine, especially since you took to living here, to taking care of him like he’s your own blood. I’m so sorry I forgot that, Hermione.” She finally allows herself to fully sink into the younger witch’s hold, smelling that delightful hint of new parchment along with gentle heather undertones.

As Hermione withdraws, her eyes don’t leave her, and the younger witch’s left hand stays on Andy’s arm, reassuring. She looks as if she wants to say something, but then works her mouth in a different direction and squeezes Andromeda’s arm. “How about we open the Floo on our side and head over to the Burrow before your sister comes and breaks through all of the wards?” The tremulous smile on Hermione’s face is too much for her to resist; she reaches her left hand up and strokes her cheek, pleased that she’s able to draw a fuller smile from Hermione with the touch.

“I’ll let you do the honours, dear one, while I get my wand and summon Wolfie.”

* * *

After taking Andromeda's hand in her own once she arrives back in the sitting room with her wand tucked in a thigh holster and Wolfie held in her other hand, Hermione realises, yet again, how completely smitten she is with her girlfriend. Though Andy still needs to apologise properly to Teddy, and though Hermione almost, just _almost_ still feels like maybe she should continue holding on to even a small bit of her anger that she's held close to her for what feels like much too long now… she simply cannot. She just _can't_ hold onto that anger she’s almost poisoned herself with for the past… two days? Or more, she’s not sure of the exact number of hours. She squeezes Andy's hand and presses a kiss to her cheek, allowing the remnants of her anger slip from her as she pets down the stuffie's fur before stepping into the Floo after Andy and travelling to the Burrow.

Once there, Hermione can’t tear her eyes from Andromeda’s back as Narcissa leads them to one of the newest magically held together additions to the Burrow, a place meant for young children to go and play among other things. Though it feels a tad bit preemptive, Hermione knows that it's inevitable for Molly and Arthur to sooner rather than later have a home overflowing with grandchildren. The space itself is off the kitchen a ways, and thankfully there’s no stairs leading to it, or else Hermione’s sure she would have tripped by now.

Of _course,_ Andy hadn’t intentionally meant to hurt her or Teddy with her actions. She’s listened to her girlfriend speak of her childhood, what it was like to grow up under the weight of the House of Black, with parents such as Cygnus and Druella Black. Andy had left the family, been disowned, but that never meant she so easily shed the lasting effects of trauma completely. And Hermione knows that of all people, she should have understood that, but in all of her sodding Gryffindor glory _hadn’t_. She’d been blinded by her own somewhat misplaced anger and knows now that both she and Andy owe Teddy apologies.

At first, Teddy pouts and acts as if he doesn’t want to accept the real Wolfie as a peace offering from Andy. It’s only when Hermione bends down next to her and rests her limp right hand over Andy’s wrist while her left helps to jointly present the stuffie to the small wizard that he looks warily over at her. When she gives him the first smile he’s seen from her in what likely feels like forever to him, his face crumples up and he reaches for the soft toy. Fat tears fall from his small eyes and he cries, holding onto Wolfie with one hand while he runs into her chest, wrapping his arms around her neck.

“ _Auntie Hermes!_ ” he cries, his voice muffled by the fur collar of her cloak. He pulls away to look into her eyes, his bottom lip trembling. He struggles at first to say anything, but finally his emotionally strained, wobbly voice comes across. “Sorry I hurt you.” Oh, Merlin. Oh this precious boy. She lets herself fall onto her bum and opens her arms up to him, welcoming him to sit on her lap and settle into one of his, as he so calls it, “favourite places.” She blinks away some tears, but others still escape as she rocks the boy as best she can.

“It’s okay, love,” she whispers, “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it. Auntie here just… was hurt, badly, a few years ago, so she can’t use both her hands, but she can still do nearly everything anyone else can. Might take a little bit longer, though. I’m so sorry for acting coldly before. I was cross with your nana and it affected how I treated you.” Her left hand smooths down his hair that’s slowly turning from a deep, almost morose brown back to a muted blue. Making eye contact with Andy, she presses a kiss to the boy’s head and murmurs, “Your nana has something she’d like to say to you, too, sweet boy.”

Teddy looks up at her with bleary, wide eyes. “But I didn’t do anything else!” Hermione winces as she hears Andy cut off a sob by clapping a hand over her mouth and sucking in a sharp breath. She strokes a blue eyebrow and tries to smile, but it’s difficult. In spite of the anger she’d held onto for the past couple of days, she can never honestly stand seeing her girlfriend upset. Which was why she’d tried to stay away from her, sort through her emotions first for the past few days, but now that everything’s truly starting to settle between them, the almost physical pain she’s experiencing on behalf of Andy hearing such words from her grandson, as if she only exists now to _punish_ him, is absolutely heartbreaking.

So she steps in and softly corrects, “Oh, Teddy, she isn’t here to get onto you about anything. She— please just listen to her, for me?” He blinks up at her and after a moment nods a couple of times before turning in her lap to look at his grandmother. Hermione watches as Andy’s face, plagued by guilt, looks older than she’s ever witnessed it. As if an entire decade has forced itself upon her. She strains to reach out with her magic, to try and offer _something_ to help soothe her while she’s otherwise physically occupied with Teddy still in her arms.

Andy’s voice is thick with emotion and cracks as she speaks. “I— I am so, so, _so_ sorry my love, my darling Teddy. I should have never yelled at you. I should have sat down with you instead and explained why what you said hurt Hermione, which in turn hurt me because I love her. I also should have _never_ taken Wolfie away like I did. Your auntie helped me realise why I reacted the way I did, but that is still _no_ excuse for how I treated you. Can… can you forgive me?” A small, thoroughly apologetic, and watery smile appears on Andromeda’s face, and Hermione’s so, _so_ proud of her. She tenses a bit as Teddy shifts on her lap and lets go of her hold on him as he makes his intentions clear, his little hands patting her forearms so they’ll part for him.

Hermione watches as the little wizard toddles the few steps between them, watches as he first touches the back of one of Andromeda’s hands as it lays on her knee. Her girlfriend’s eyes are shining, clearly blinking back tears, and it’s… oh gosh, it’s a wondrous sight when Teddy opens up his arms to her and she pulls him to her, shifting so she’s no longer putting her weight upon her knees but sitting cross-legged with him in her lap. She can’t quite make out what Teddy says as his face is pressed against the side of Andy’s neck, but by the way Andy’s breath catches and tears begin to fall from her impossibly warm brown eyes while a slow smile graces her features, she knows Teddy’s forgiven his grandmother.

It’s the next question that Hermione hears, for Teddy pulls back to fix a look on his grandmother before blunt words tumble from his lips like a Gryffindor. “Why _did_ you re–” he struggles for a moment, and Andy helpfully supplies, “React the way I did?” Teddy nods. “Yeah, that, Nana!” But then he pauses, Hermione sees his hand go up and scratch at his temple, a presumably nervous habit of his she’s noticed. “If that’s okay to ask.”

“Oh, honey.” Andy dips her head and presses a kiss to the boy’s forehead. “It’s perfectly all right to ask me that. Let me say this, though: if something _isn’t_ okay to ask or say in the future, I’ll sit you down and explain why. No yelling. If I yell, how about we agree on Hermione over there putting your nana in time-out?” Oh, Hermione knows Andy doesn’t mean it in any sort of suggestive manner, but sod it all, seeing her girlfriend like this with Teddy after these past few days is doing things to her. The transparency. The vulnerability. Even though it’s only been somewhere over forty-eight hours since they’ve been intimate together, suddenly that feels far too long without.

“Mm, what ‘bout Auntie Cissa instead?” It’s then, only then, that Hermione— and Andromeda, apparently, as well— notices that Narcissa is still in the room with them. Granted, she’s standing by the door, but shite does the woman know how to conceal herself in plain sight. But it makes sense that of all of the Blacks, she’d be the one to display such a skill when she wants. Sirius never would have tried, Andy’s— well, she’s _Andy_ , perhaps Regulus might have been the most like Narcissa? She’s never asked. And then… but she won’t let the _other_ unmentioned Black ruin this, where she is mentally right now. 

Narcissa’s lips curve into a smooth smile as she and her sister look at each other, and Hermione’s catches the slight contortion of Andy’s— almost like a grimace— before she turns back to Teddy, and it’s no small feat that even he doesn’t catch on to the strain in Andromeda’s voice as she reluctantly agrees with him. It’s clear to Hermione that the idea of her younger sister holding the reins of punishment over her for even inadvertently hurting her grandson is something of a trying thing to come to terms with. Even if her baby sister is forty-four years old. But it appeases Teddy, and that’s what matters right now.

“Now then, to answer your other question,” Andy clears her throat, adjusts the collar of Teddy’s robes, “My parents were… bad people, to say the least.” The soft, barely noticeable gasp from Narcissa several steps away catches Hermione’s attention long enough to see that the younger Black sister is holding a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening by a fraction, a display of emotion that she doesn’t expose to just anyone. Not even to Hermione that much, so this… it’s rattling her, and Andy hasn’t even said the whole of it. But it’s the first time she recalls Andy candidly saying such a thing to Teddy about his great-grandparents. If she has ever so much as mentioned them in the past at all.

“They… were more than strict. Your Auntie Cissa and I, and our… other sister,” she pauses, glances beyond Teddy’s head to meet Hermione’s eye. She flashes a small okay hand sign her way. “We were expected to behave perfectly. If we made a mistake, even at your age… If we were not directly punished for it, we were threatened. We were _‘taught better than that.’_ We were to show no flaws, make no mistakes. Not a toe out of line, which is not possible for anyone to do and still _be_ themselves. I completely forgot myself when I yelled at you, and… imitated my own mother. If we failed in being perfect, she blamed it on herself for not preventing it. None of this, though, excuses how I hurt you, Teddy, do you understand? Just because someone goes through something bad… like my sisters and I did, and is hurt by it _doesn’t_ mean they can treat others badly in turn. We have to learn and do better. _Choose_ to be good.”

Teddy, at this point, turns to Hermione. “Like you, Auntie Hermes? You were hurt, but you’re _good_. Not bad.” She sucks in her lips and closes her eyes for a moment, amazed at how intelligent this little boy already is. Then again, he’s the son of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, who were both vastly sharp individuals, though in different manners of speaking.

When she opens her eyes again, she scoots forward and rubs the top of Teddy’s head affectionately. “Such a sweet boy.” Heels sound against the wooden floor, and in the next moment, Narcissa Malfoy is clearing her throat and settling down to primly sit at their sides, neatly smoothing down her beautiful holiday robes in the process.

“Sweet boy he is, but he is also correct, Miss Granger. You continue to exhibit the best traits of Gryffindor House among others.” She’s not sure how to respond to that… that kind of candid praise from Narcissa. “Now that we’ve handled this, though, we have a gathering to get back to. Or arrive at, in your cases,” Narcissa looks pointedly between the two of them. Hermione explains that they had been visiting her parents before coming here, only to receive a dry smile from the Malfoy matriarch.

“Well, I suppose that not _everyone_ can be tidy in planning their days, can they?”

* * *

The evening of December 31st, 2001, brings them to a completely remodelled Black Manor, a place that both Narcissa and she have worked on together for some time now, collaborating with house-elves as well as exterior and interior decorating mages. She’d told her sister that remodelling was the only way she’d ever return to the estate without burning it to the ground. Granted, they had still burnt _some_ of it merely due to the presence of so much Dark magic that there were no other options left. But over a period of several months, they were able to rid the entirety of the manor and its surrounding land of all traces of Dark magic. And finally, _finally_ , she feels good enough to bring Hermione to the house she’d grown up in. Or at least a vastly improved version of it.

“Gosh, it’s gorgeous,” Hermione remarks as they arrive before the opened and welcoming front gates, her features cast in a sense of awe as her eyes roam over the exterior of the estate. “I’ve never seen a manor that looks so… so _homey_ before, Andy. Even the Muggle estates I’ve visited were always so cold and imposing but this... I can understand why you made me wait for the finished remodelled product, though I still believe the tongue-tying curse was a _bit_ too much.”

Andy rolls her eyes and pinches Hermione’s cheek, earning herself a giggle from the younger witch. “Well, it did the trick, didn’t it? The first time you asked Harry for the location or a photograph and the curse activated on him, you didn’t ask anyone else because of that strong moral compass of yours… despite _clearly_ wanting to know enough to apparate here before things were finalised. Cissa was right, you _do_ exhibit the best traits of Gryffindor among others. Bit of Hufflepuff along with the known Ravenclaw traits, I’d personally wager.”

As if on cue, Narcissa comes to her side from behind and rests a hand on her shoulder. It’s only from years of knowing her sister that she doesn’t react in any visible manner, though Hermione’s not quite at that point yet and startles at Cissa’s drawling voice. “I do believe I heard my name. Now, Andy dear, you aren’t taking _all_ of the credit for these redecorations, are you?”

“She’s not, she was actually—” but Andy presses the palm of her hand over Hermione’s mouth, only for Cissa to chuckle and remind her that she’s rather a natural at Legilimency and her Muggle-born girlfriend’s thoughts are, “ _extremely_ loud, Andromeda. But it is refreshing to hear from you that I am right. Even if I already know that I _always_ am, and never do I let Lucius forget it.” Merlin, she knows the icy smile on her sister’s face is enough to make some wizards and witches shudder.

“But do pardon my digression, I came by from inspecting the borders of the property to not only greet but direct you both to the ground floor’s sitting room where Teddy is currently with Draco and Harry.” It’s a tad odd still to hear her sister call Harry by his first name, but one look at Hermione and it’s apparent it’s the first time she’s heard her call Mr Potter that. At which point she witnesses Hermione politely but resolutely request that Narcissa call her by her first name, and also finds it somehow fit to surreptitiously remind her sister that she had asked the same of her after walking in on them. It’s only due to the number of times she and her sisters had accidentally walked in on each other during their teenage years, forgetting the lessons of their upbringing, that Andromeda is able to laugh such a thing off.

… But only if it doesn’t become a habit for Cissa to literally walk in on them. It is one matter to almost get caught in the act, and another entirely to have someone walk in on the act in progress as an unintended voyeur if only for a matter of seconds. She knows she is only fortunate that Narcissa is a woman of utmost discretion.

Upon entering the light, somewhat airy atmosphere of the sitting room with Hermione and her sister a few minutes later, she’s almost immediately greeted by Teddy’s form flying towards her, eagerly seeking out a hug which she gladly bends down and gives to her boy. Forgiveness from a child is something so beautiful, and some nights she still feels undeserving of it, but Hermione’s always there to help. Andy watches as he reaches out and puts an arm around Hermione’s calf, and the tinkling laughter from her girlfriend as she bends down to enter the hug is luminous. She only hopes that—

“Ah, Andy! When you’re free, I’ve got something to talk to you about,” Harry’s voice drifts over from the settee near the lit fireplace. Andromeda meets his bright green eyes, full of warmth not only from the light cast into them from the flames, but from Draco’s arm lazily slung around him. She’s happy for them, truly, even though the matter of their relationship had been a more recent point of contention between Hermione and herself because she’d known of it before her, but in her defence she had only kept it a secret on Harry’s request. He’d wanted the chance to plan how best to reveal his romantic relationship with Draco to his best friends, and had planned it all with her nephew— a night that, for all of their worries, had gone off rather swimmingly. Even Ronald Weasley had taken it in surprisingly well, mentioning he’d known that Harry has fancied blokes since that time he had fancied Cedric Diggory years ago. Simply didn’t, in the redhead's words that she’d heard directly from Harry after the fact, “know if it’d ever turn into something lasting with a wizard, mate. And Malfoy at that, shite!” But her girlfriend, of course, despite being somewhat surprised, had only been so because she’d told her that she _should_ have seen it, especially considering the way the two had interacted in their sixth year and beyond.

Once Teddy’s had his fill of the hug and returns to jump into Draco’s waiting lap, practically begging her nephew to go to the third floor with him and do some laps down a corridor on his toy Nimbus, Andromeda catches Harry’s gaze again. She makes an excuse to stay and speak with Harry to Hermione, and Narcissa persuades the Muggle-born witch to come upstairs with her to help supervise Draco and Teddy. And it’s there that Andy sees it, only slight enough for her to catch it: the plaintive edge to her sister’s pale blue eyes, the minuscule downturn of her lips for the barest of moments as she looks at how well Teddy and Draco are getting along. She knows that Narcissa wishes that her husband could be here, but has the sense to understand that he’s still not ready for such a get-together. And if she’s hopeful enough, in such a dreadful, harrowing manner— perhaps Cissa is missing what they’d never had the pleasure of seeing, a relationship between Draco and Nymphadora. Cousins who never met as they should have.

But she has to pull herself out of such wild fancy that will never be reality. She rids herself of the fabricated images of her daughter playing with Draco as children for the sight of Harry, here in the present day, waiting for her on the sofa. When she sits down next to him, she turns and takes notice of the small, rustic chest he pulls out of his inner robe pockets. It’s been miniaturised, and he sets it on the low table in front of them, returning it to its original size.

“I’m glad you’re finally telling her about these,” Harry says, relief clear in his voice. “It’ll be a load off my back, having to keep it from her all this time. But… why now, Andy? Are you… going to propose with them?” And she laughs at the notion, though it does get a few gears going inside of her head. But no. Not tonight. Not with this. And definitely not on New Year’s Eve. She tells Harry not to get his hopes up, but that if things go well tonight, a proposal may not be _too_ far off in the future.

She cups his cheek and tenderly strokes her thumb across it. “You’ll be one of the first to know of my plans, now that I know that I can _fully_ trust you,” which of course, that last bit draws the slightest hint of Harry’s ire, an almost offended, “Oi!” from the young man in spite of the playful wink she’d sent him. She pats his cheek and sits forward on the sofa, reaching out to rest her hand on the chest— or rather more aptly named a letterbox— before murmuring a spell that unlocks it. Inside are all of the letters she’d received back from Hermione when she had written to her as _that unlikely witch_. Every single one, though her memory is a bit hazy on the exact number. She’d modified her handwriting with a spell, just in case Hermione ever had need to write to and hear from Andromeda Tonks, however slim the possibility had seemed back then.

“As for my intentions tonight, they are… again, not to propose, but merely rid myself of this last secret. It’s been at the back of my mind for far too long, and I have kept putting it off. At first, I was not sure when _would_ be the right time to inform Hermione that I was her ‘unlikely witch,’ and then…” she sighs, gripping the edge of the chest, “I am glad I was finally able to confess to you that I’d thought I had _lost_ them only for you to save me from a lifetime of wondering what I could have done with them.” She releases her hold on the chest and turns back to Harry, drawing him into a hug. “Thank you, my dear boy, for finding them at Grimmauld Place and writing to me over the weekend. You have no idea how much of a boon it was to my still rather fractured emotions from everything that has occurred recently with my love and Teddy.”

Harry chuckles against her. “It was no problem, Andy. You and Hermione are bloody wonderful together, and though I know you’ve had your disagreements and misunderstandings, you two always come out better from them. Now,” he rubs her back and then pulls away, eyeing her conspiratorially, “Go find your witch. Draco’s set up the conservatory for you two. I’d say more, but…” he grins, “You’ll need to see it for yourself.”

* * *

When she ascends the last staircase to the third floor, she tenses for a moment as she’s met with a small blur speeding by that she can only assume is her grandson on a charmed toy broomstick. Decidedly charmed to go leagues faster than it _should_ go, but as soon as she turns another corner to go after him she’s met with the firm palm of… her sister? On her breastbone, eyeing her with a fixed, unwavering gaze. Hermione isn’t anywhere within her line of sight, but she’s drawn back to Narcissa’s cool blue eyes as extra pressure is applied to her by the pale hand on her chest.

“Before you hex my son, know that I applied every single protective and safety charm I know of on Teddy’s broomstick as well as Teddy himself. It was no use stopping them,” which Andromeda doesn’t even bother hiding rolling her eyes at, because if anything she knows Cissa can stop whatever she bloody well pleases as long as it doesn’t involve so-called Dark Lords living in Malfoy Manor, “but Hermione did not wish to actively participate after, so she wandered off to explore the second floor, abdicating herself of any ‘guilt.’ I trust that you can find her without my help.”

Andromeda purses her lips and removes her sister’s hand from her chest, smirking at the display of emotion that crosses Narcissa’s face at the more-than-firm grip she applies to her wrist. Cissa says nothing, though, and as soon as the look is there, it’s replaced by smooth, unbothered features. A placidity that Andy could never hope to achieve, nor does she wish to. With a fake-out squeeze to Narcissa’s shoulders that she effortlessly transitions into pulling her into a tight, yet not painful, hug, she whispers into her sister’s hair next to her ear, “Thank you for whatever aid you lent tonight,” knowing full well that at the very least it involves Cissa taking Teddy for an overnight stay at Malfoy Manor.

“I have absolutely no idea what you are referring to, my dear Andromeda,” Cissa’s voice returns just as quietly. But her baby sister applies a light kiss to her cheek before sending her on her way with a sure nudge of her knuckles to the back of Andy’s shoulders. And with a raise of her open hand, she leaves her grandson in what she knows to be the more than capable hands of her sister. Her only sister, as far as she’s concerned, because there is no room for even a spare, minuscule kind thought towards the other who she used to share this home with so many years ago. All she can think about now is finding Hermione.

And oh Merlin, the moment she spots her in the second library of the manor, one meant for only the House of Black children to revise and read in, her heart lurches and her breath is taken away. Hermione’s head is resting on top of an open book, her relaxed face turned towards the doorway which allows Andromeda to get an unobstructed view of her as she sleeps. She remembers the long hours her girlfriend’s been putting in to help with the end-of-year inventory at Pivotal Chapters, and it’s finally caught up with her despite the rest Andy _has_ seen to make sure Hermione gets. It still… hasn’t been quite enough.

She considers an idea, then steps back out in the corridor to send her Patronus to Narcissa, letting her know that she and Hermione will stay the night in the conservatory and for no one to bother them until late afternoon of the following day if her sister hasn’t heard from either of them by then. Only after she receives a message back from Narcissa’s Patronus does Andy cast a silencing charm on the floor so she can enter back into the library and get close to Hermione without waking her. She pats where the letterbox is miniaturised again and settled nicely in one of the pockets of her cloak.

Andy settles her hand softly on one of Hermione’s shoulders, the witch still sleeping peacefully with her head situated in the space between her crossed arms. Her left hand is all Andromeda has to measure Hermione’s state of mind in sleep, and currently it’s not completely relaxed, but not fully clenched into any sort of fist, either. She applies the gentlest of pressure to Hermione’s shoulder while her other hand goes to stroke brown curls, not as soft as her own, but less bushy than younger photographs of her show.

It’s a risk what she’s considering, and so, so very tempted to do. She could simply wake Hermione now and ask her to follow down to the conservatory on the first floor, but if she’s careful, she can pick her up and carry Hermione down herself. And the prospect is too tempting to pass up, and if that makes her self-serving, then so be it. Though she doubts even the Hufflepuffs she’s known in her life, including her own family, would truly believe that she’s only thinking of herself. Hermione needs the bit of extra rest, and Andromeda knows the spells needed to make this as comfortable as possible for her girlfriend. A featherlight charm on Hermione’s form, a cast spell upon her own arms and upper body that will make Hermione feel as if she’s sleeping in a hammock, and a spell to gently pull back the seat she’s sitting in followed by a careful levitation charm…

All are cast, and in less than a minute she has Hermione Granger settled comfortably in her arms, positioned in a cradle-like hold with her head lolled comfortably against Andy’s chest. It’s still a testament to their relationship that Hermione doesn’t wake— because after what happened to her, she’d told Andromeda shortly after moving in that she’d become a rather light sleeper. Though, according to her, she’d already been that way to a degree, but not so much as to wake up at the drop of a pin. It’d taken time for her to grow accustomed to sharing a bed with someone else, and Andy remembers all the nights spent waking to use the loo only to find Hermione sitting up in bed. When she returned on those nights, she’d always gesture with an open arm for the younger witch to settle back down into her hold, reassuring her that, _“You’re safe here, love. If anything does happen, we’ll face it together, all right?”_ Eventually, she’d discovered that Hermione slept undisturbed the longest by Andy spooning her from behind, protective arms wrapped around her middle.

It feels natural, now, to hold Hermione to her. Like she’s meant to. Like they simply _fit_. And it certainly helps her case that through the several minute journey downstairs and to the back of the manor, Hermione never once wakes. Only snuggles in closer to the body holding her. It feels so good, so bloody _perfect_ , that once they’re in the conservatory, Andy doesn’t want to let go. And she doesn’t, at least for a few more minutes while she walks around the space, viewing the herbs and plants, taking in the world outside that’s softly illuminated by the moonlight hitting the small blanket of freshly fallen snow. She’s glad that she and Narcissa agreed on how best to remodel and repurpose this room, once only used for duelling practice that left them bloodied and bruised. Now, though, it’s built primarily of large windows with a glass roof, accentuated with soft, muted colours in the chosen furniture. The plants were specifically chosen to lend a calming, relaxed atmosphere, and… _oh_.

Draco has magically enlarged the conservatory, adding what she can only assume is a mealtime nook and small sitting area complete with chaise lounge and gorgeous fairy lights for decoration. It’s clear that it’s not for large, extravagant meals, but a cosy space to prepare breakfast or a snack for two people. She spots a few wine bottles tucked at the back of the nook but doesn’t chance wandless magic while both of her hands are occupied holding Hermione still. She dips her head to look at her face and relishes that Hermione’s still resting, laying a kiss upon her front hairline before going to the chaise lounge with a right arm that she and Cissa had purchased at a furniture store off Diagon Alley. She never thought it would be placed _here_ , though.

Hermione starts to awaken only after Andromeda fully settles her onto the chaise, and she stays put sitting at the end of the lounge by Hermione’s feet as she watches her girlfriend blink her eyes open. Her voice is rough and laden with sleep as she breathes out Andy’s name in a question. Andy touches Hermione shin through her trousers and rubs gently. “Hello, love,” her voice is soft, only loud enough for Hermione to hear despite no one else present with them. “I’ve brought you downstairs to the conservatory. You fell asleep in the second floor library.”

She hears a groan from the other end of the chaise as Hermione lifts herself up partially, putting weight on her elbows as she looks around the room. “Gorgeous…” Brown eyes widen, taking in the plants and decor. But Hermione’s gaze fixates on the largely unhindered view of the outdoors, and most specifically the sky above them before she looks back at Andromeda, sheer joy and wonder alighting in her eyes.

“Does the library have a bit of competition now?” Andromeda asks, a teasing lilt to her delivery. She undoes the strings tying Hermione’s boots and gingerly tugs them off her before setting to work massaging the woman’s sock-clad feet. She watches as Hermione bites back some noise with her front teeth pressed upon her lower lip and grins devilishly, but before she’s completely distracted she feels the letterbox chest knock against the side of her chest as she resituates herself. As Hermione rolls her eyes and informs that _nothing_ could beat a library, not even a room as arguably brilliant as this, Andy takes one of her hands and pulls the miniaturised object from within her cloak.

Cutting herself off, Hermione sits up, now appearing fully awake, and scrutinises the chest once it’s returned to its original size. “What’s that?”

Andromeda simply motions for Hermione to hold out her arms. While she’s overwhelmingly eager, almost downright _impatient_ for Hermione to open the letterbox and see for herself what’s inside, her heart’s pounding in her chest with a disconcerting apprehension that Hermione will take offence to not knowing about this since the beginning of their relationship. She looks on in anticipation as Hermione lifts the lid and initially inspects what’s inside before picking an envelope up and turning it around to read who it’s addressed to.

“An unlikely witch…” Hermione whispers. It takes a moment, but finally Hermione looks up at her, her pink lips parted and eyes blinking several times, recognition in them before she speaks again. “This is… this is _my_ handwriting, Andy. This is—” She pauses, sets the first envelope down next to her and turns each subsequent envelope over until she reaches the bottom one which, well, rightfully causes her to gasp. Her head shoots up, eyes bugging out, and she waves the envelope where Andromeda can see her name clearly written in Hermione’s careful script on the outside, followed by the address of the home they now share, the home she had also shared with Ted for over two decades. “I didn’t address this to you! I didn’t know who you were, I only—”

“Magic, sweetheart,” Andy smiled. “You may have addressed it to a generalised ‘whomever’ sent you your potion to help with the tremors, but on the way to the recipient, if someone doesn’t know the exact name or location of who they’re writing to and the other party is aware of their existence and _open_ to receiving a letter from them, there are charms on magical envelopes to fix that issue.” Hermione’s jaw slackens and then she starts _giggling_. Andromeda’s heart swells pleasantly at the sound.

“Of course, _this_ is one of the few bloody things I never thought to research, and Hogwarts never thought to cover it! Oh my gosh, Andy… you… You were always there, weren’t you? All that… all that time, holding me steady.” She nods and watches as Hermione carefully goes through the several letters, and when she finishes skimming through them all a few minutes later, she looks up again. “You kept them all, everything I wrote to you,” she breathes out, and there’s tears at the corners of her eyes as the letterbox sits on her lap. “I— I’m so _happy_ , but… why only tell me now?”

Andromeda sucks her lips into her mouth and scratches at the side of her nose. “I _wanted_ to tell you, but I… wasn’t sure how you would react at first. I feared that—” she worries at her lip, flicking her gaze away for a moment, “that you might think me disingenuous to have written under anonymity and later a pseudonym. And as I kept putting it off, it became harder to convince myself to reveal it to you, then eventually I took them to Harry’s so… so you wouldn’t stumble upon them accidentally. And time passed, then when I thought of them again I realised I’d forgotten where I had placed them. Finally, though, after what happened between us regarding Teddy several days ago, I summoned a spot of courage to confide in Harry my worry, only for him to remind me that he still had them. I was… so bloody _scared_ that I’d lost them, lost any chance to actually tell you, _show_ you. I simply _needed_ to.” She pauses, takes a few breaths, and finally looks straight into Hermione’s eyes again, only to find that while she’s said all this, Hermione’s set the letterbox on the floor beside them and moved close enough that she can make out the faintest dusting of freckles on her girlfriend’s face.

A tentative hand, Hermione’s left, reaches up and cups her cheek, swipes away… a tear? Andromeda swallows hard and leans greedily into Hermione’s touch. “I should have realised, honestly. What you wrote— it all adds up now. Don’t know how I didn’t see that it was…” but Hermione stops, shakes her head slowly and then looks at her again. “I don’t think you were disingenuous, but I do wonder… why? Why start writing to me, helping me back then? You’d never met me, you didn’t have any reason to care.”

Now that she realises she’s started crying, she shuts her eyes for a second, her voice thick as she continues, trying to hold back a sob but failing. “How could I _not_ care? She was— she was my _sister_ , and she— I only wanted to _help_ where she _hurt_.” As she sniffles, she hardly notices Hermione moving her hand, resituating herself so that she can pull Andy to her. Andromeda lets her chin rest on Hermione’s shoulder, a small part at the back of her mind so immeasurably proud of her girlfriend for holding up like this at such almost direct mention of Bellatrix’s torture in an already emotionally-charged environment.

She wraps her arms around Hermione and gently squeezes, the backstory spilling out of her. “Harry spoke of you to me. Not _only_ you, but— you stuck out, and I had the Healing experience to do something to help. I found that I _wanted_ to. I found myself _caring_ about you as I learned more about you from Harry. But I thought better of letting you know who I was. I guess,” she laughs weakly, “I guess from the very start I was somehow drawn to you, but didn’t want to set you back by revealing my identity. I never thought we’d actually meet, and then… for _this_ to happen was completely out of the scope of my wildest imagination. But I don’t for one moment regret helping you, regret _writing_ to you as that unlikely witch.”

When she finishes, she hears Hermione hum and it sinks in that the younger woman has been running fingers through her hair all this time. Andy blinks at Hermione pulling back, placing a kiss to her cheek. “You’re _my_ unlikely witch, then,” Hermione murmurs, running the thumb of her good hand over one of Andromeda’s eyebrows. “It’ll take a bit… for this to settle in my head. That you and she are the same person, but…” She trails off, and Andy can’t help but squint at her, still trying to believe, to fully wrap her head around the fact that Hermione is so accepting. She’s thankful now more than ever that Hermione’s not a Slytherin.

And as soon as the urge comes over her, she leans forward and kisses Hermione chastely before the other witch can even register it. At the subtle widening of Hermione’s eyes, she takes both of her hands, cradles her witch’s face, and peppers more kisses until she hears Hermione giggling, smiling like a loon.

“I love you, Hermione Granger,” she whispers next to her ear, treasuring the shiver she feels come over her girlfriend as she brushes their cheeks against each other while pulling away. When she meets brown eyes somewhat darker than her own, she exhales slowly at the desire in them, the black almost overpowering the brown. Hermione takes no time in surging forward, crashing their lips together. It’s too quick, really, by the way their teeth clack against each other, but Andy only laughs and presses Hermione back with both of her hands on Hermione’s upper arms.

With a soft, “Lay down for me, love,” Hermione blinks but follows directions perfectly. She settles on her back against the chaise’s cushions, and Andromeda’s grateful that she’d splurged on the pillow behind Hermione’s head because it won’t do for her to grow uncomfortable. No, not at all. She takes a moment to widen the lounge, giving her room to straddle Hermione properly, resting her hands on either side of the witch beneath her. And before she forgets, she applies a few spells with her wand to prevent others from looking in on them or coming into the conservatory. Thankfully, there’s no Floo to close off in here.

“Andy…” Hermione breathes out, “Love you. So much.” And she positively delights in the way Hermione wriggles a bit underneath her, anticipatory, wanting. She slowly lowers herself on top of her absolutely gorgeous witch, resting half her weight on her. Shuts her eyes as Hermione wraps her right arm around her, feeling her non-functional hand lay motionless against her right side. Takes a moment to move her own hand back so it trails a line upwards until Hermione feels it against a certain spot along her wrist and arches into her. She’s glad she’s found such a sensitive spot, and though it may be due to the permanent injury killing off Hermione’s nerve endings and overall functionality beyond the wrist here, Hermione has never seemed to truly mind. Actually, she’s remarked in the past that it’s actually a huge middle finger to Lestrange.

Now, though, Andy teases the spot a few more times until Hermione is nearly writhing underneath her. When she suddenly stops, Hermione whines with need, but at the slow shushing from Andromeda, she quietens almost immediately, only whimpering once more before Andy rests a finger against her lips. As their eyes meet, she murmurs, “Good girl,” eliciting a small moan from Hermione. She smirks, removes her finger from Hermione’s lips and presses a slow kiss there instead while her other hand wandlessly removes everything they’re wearing.

Hermione softly cries out, and Andy has to bite her tongue at the rush of cold air that greets her bare skin, knowing that’s what’s caused Hermione’s sudden reaction as well. Natural body heat can only do so much so quickly, so she casts a rather strong heating charm that warms them up at a slightly faster pace. Granted, she knows soon enough they’ll both be sweating, but that’s a potential problem for her future self to handle. Or perhaps Hermione, since she’s well aware that her girlfriend is magnificently adept at wandless magic, further proving that what Bellatrix did _didn’t_ break her, didn’t stop her from using the magic she has every right to use.

“Andy,” her name spills from Hermione’s lips like it’s something priceless, treasured beyond everything else in the world. She nuzzles Hermione’s nose with hers, but any plans, anything she’s half-formed in her mind to do with the younger witch dissolves instantly as soon as fingers from Hermione’s left hand, which she’s left neglected and therefore _open_ to do whatever Hermione desires, grazes her slit. Andromeda groans at the contact, her skin wet and assuredly growing increasingly so as the buzzing pleasure in her mind builds.

Spreading her legs for her love and moving ever so slightly to allow Hermione a better angle, she lays kisses to the side of Hermione’s neck, venturing up to nibble at the woman’s earlobe. As she repeats the almost gentle bites, Hermione circles her clit almost lazily until without warning, two fingers ram into her entrance, causing Andy to inadvertently bite down _hard_. Hermione moans louder than she’s heard in some time, and it hits her: she’d done that on _purpose_ , the sudden thrust into her centre, all to catch her off-guard, to make her almost clench her teeth and hiss, but knowing full well she’d catch the younger witch’s flesh in the action.

Andy pants and removes her teeth from Hermione’s smarting earlobe. “You— you could’ve just… just _asked_ , love,” she half-groans, pushing back onto Hermione’s fingers every time they begin to pull out of her.

Hermione turns her head, kisses Andy’s temple, and lightly intones, “That would’ve taken the fun out of it, though. Unless…” she pauses, hesitation laced within her words, “unless you didn’t like it? I—”

She reaches one hand up and scratches at Hermione’s scalp rather roughly, tugging at the younger witch’s hair as she knows Hermione loves it. “Don’t start with rambling out an apology. It’s fine. Just keep— _fuck_ —” She hisses as Hermione strokes her clit at just the right angle.

“Keep fucking you?” Hermione laughs out and Andy can’t help but join in until a particularly curved thrust slides against her spongy patch, making her forcefully roll her hips into Hermione, begging with a chant of, “Please, please, _please_ ,” for more attention to that spot. Hermione freely gives it while Andy takes her free hand and lavishes attention onto one of her girlfriend’s breasts, taking the hardened peak and rolling it almost too roughly, or what _she_ might consider too rough. But Hermione asks for more, to flick at it harder, and so she does, earning herself an elated cry that’s like reassuring music to her ears. She never wants to hurt Hermione, but they’ve talked this over, and as long as such words as _no_ or _stop_ , or agreed upon safe words don’t fall from her lover’s lips, it’s all right to— in Hermione’s words, “be aggressive with me sometimes. So long as you’re comfortable with it, too.”

It’d taken a few more nights of talking and experimenting with how far was too far, and sometimes she still wonders, but it’s been another lesson in communication that she’s grateful for. There’s only so far she can go before she starts to feel… _off_ , which Hermione understands, and there’s only so far Hermione _wants_ to go until it becomes too much. They’ve both got their limits. And then there’s plenty of times where all they want is gentle sex, and then there’s those times where they’ll just… mutually masturbate, and _fuck_ does she want to do that again soon. Seeing Hermione pleasure herself is bloody well one of the most beautiful sights she’s ever laid her eyes upon. And sometimes she’s even asked to join in with one of her own hands.

But right now, right fucking now, she whines as Hermione pulls her fingers out, and she has nothing to clamp down on within. Her eyes meet Hermione’s testingly, and she stops her own ministrations on the other witch’s body the moment she sees the… hesitation? Almost shyness? Right there, right on Hermione’s face. She blinks and moves the hand that rests on Hermione’s breast, using it instead to stroke her girlfriend’s flushed cheek.

“Now what’s going through that beautiful head of yours, Hermione?”

Hermione visibly swallows. “I— I wanna do it up against the glass. I’ve never— we— can you, after I’ve made you come first, of course… Could you,” she hesitates, biting her tongue, and Andy soothingly runs the fingers of her other hand through Hermione’s hair, whispers that it’s all right, there’s nothing shameful about what she desires. And then, in a low murmur Hermione states, “Not even if I want you to freeze the window so it stings against my back? _Hard_?”

She blinks and glances up at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, then turns to face Hermione again. And she remembers what happened to Hermione in Malfoy Manor. “Sweetheart, it’s not as if you’re asking for knife play— which, to duly inform you, I will never partake in. But some stinging and a freezing cold sensation while I fuck you? That I can sodding well do with pleasure.” Andromeda flashes a grin and pushes her hand up through Hermione’s locks and scratches her girlfriend’s scalp, digging in a bit harsher with her short nails before tugging on the roots. As Hermione whimpers and cries out for more, Andy lowers her head so her mouth rests by Hermione’s temple and sharply bites out, “First, though, follow through and _make me come_. _”_

And an instant later, her slick folds are penetrated by two fingers again, causing Andy’s breath to catch, and she subsequently bites her lip as Hermione’s left thumb rubs her swollen clit. Hermione alternates between hard thrusts and gentle teasing, practically edging her, definitely teasing her. She growls against the base of Hermione’s throat and starts sucking around and then on her girlfriend’s pulse point, to which Hermione responds by _finally_ touching her how she desires, what she _needs_ to keep building up that burning heat in her core. It builds, and builds, and _builds_ until she’s rocking into Hermione like there’s nothing more important in the world, almost sobbing out her release as it finally washes over her and Hermione’s movements inside of her slow in time with her contractions. When she finally, fully slumps on top of Hermione again, fingers are pulled out with one final rub against her spent clit.

“You… are… amazing,” she pants out against Hermione’s neck, then licks at the mark she’s left on it while her hands languidly move against the younger woman’s breast and hair. She spots Hermione’s left hand out of the corner of her eye, hears Hermione suck _her_ fluids, and nuzzles into her. “Fucking hell. Give me a minute, then I promise I’ll take you against that window.” She points, isn’t sure if it’s even towards the right place, but her answer comes in the form of a sudden bark of laughter and Hermione gently correcting her that she’s not getting fucked on a _potted plant_. “Even _that’s_ too much for me, Andy.”

A few minutes pass before she gathers the strength she knows she needs to properly pleasure Hermione the way she wants. When she stands, she’s finally fully able to appreciate Hermione’s body— the tanned skin, gentle curves, sparse moles, and a few scars, the most prominent running across part of her chest, where she’d been told by Hermione that Antonin Dolohov had cursed her with an unknown Dark spell during her fifth year, compressing and crushing some of her ribs, injuring her lung, which landed her in a bed at the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts for quite some time afterwards, taking upwards of ten potions daily.

She gently takes hold of Hermione’s arms and helps her up, and they simply rest against each other for several seconds, their breaths coming evenly. The heating charm’s still working wonders, saving them from the effects of an uninsulated room in winter, and she casts a nonverbal spell to take care of the sweat that’s built upon both of their bodies before she leads Hermione over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, asking her for her consent, making _sure_ that she absolutely still wants to do this. Hermione nods and reassures her by casting the spells upon the window herself and lowering the heating charm’s effect on her body.

“So if it gets too much, I can easily remove my own spellwork and start fixing things up. This way you won’t have to think about that, too. All I want you to do is hold me up against the window and do what we’ve already agreed upon.” And though they’ve already talked about it all, Hermione still helpfully lists out all that she’s more than okay with. It’s all rounded off with one of the safe words Hermione’s used before: scaler, a tool her parents used at their dentist practice. Definitely something that will drag them out of the moment _and_ the mood if needed.

She begins by nuzzling into the crook of Hermione’s neck, running fingernails over the warm skin of her witch’s arms. As she brings her hands back up to Hermione’s biceps, she grabs hold and starts pushing them back towards the window, picking up a bit of speed until Hermione’s back hits the reinforced glass now littered with charmed ice spikes and Andy hears her hiss through her teeth, but her body slumps into her, and then Hermione practically begs her to pin her against the wall, “Don’t let me relax like that again— oh, shit, yes!”

Andy shoves her against the glass again and can practically hear the effects of the spell Hermione applied as small ice spikes dig into the flesh of her love’s back. A high-pitched whine, the fingers of Hermione’s left hand digging into the flesh of her right shoulder, and she lowers one of her hands to cup at her girlfriend’s flushed mound. A string of swears spills from Hermione’s lips as Andy massages wet outer folds, then runs her fingers through the slit, finding an amount of arousal inside that makes her shudder with desire. And without hardly thinking, she pushes Hermione back onto the spikes again, astounded at the new rush of slick that greets her fingers.

“ _More_ ,” Hermione groans out, rolling her hips forward as she keeps her pushed back against the window. Andy watches with half-lidded eyes as Hermione shuts her own for a moment, her upper body shivering at the sensation of ice on her skin. She considers the image before her, then conjures a crimson blindfold, smirking with pleasure at how Hermione’s eyes widen and her pupils darken further at the sight. “Fuck, _yes_.” 

Andromeda makes a small frown. “Say please.”

Licking her lips, Hermione has the grace to dip her head slightly in apology before raising it again. “ _Please_ , Andy. Please blindfold me.”

Andy holds the blindfold between her hands and leans in, wrapping it around her, but before she secures it at the back of Hermione’s head, she places her nose in thick, curly hair and purrs in Hermione’s ear, “Good girl.” Hermione trembles against her and welcomes the blindfold, and after tying the knot Andy takes a second to exhale hot breath against Hermione’s other ears, counterbalancing some of the cold sensations she must be experiencing from the ice digging into her back. She takes a few moments to admire the sight in front of her: her love, naked and wanting, chewing on her lower lip, flushed all over with pert nipples begging for attention just as hips rock towards her, gesturing to a centre that’s seeking out friction. Andromeda can’t suppress the low groan that works its way out of her.

“You are so bloody enticing,” she murmurs before she grips some of Hermione’s hair with one hand, the other pushing her against the glass hard, a shock of arousal shooting through her core at Hermione’s whimper of pleasure. As she tugs on hair, she lowers herself to flick her tongue against one of Hermione’s nipples while her other hand goes down to palm at the younger witch’s mound again. At the first sign of pressure to her clit, Hermione gasps and her knees buckle. Andy grabs hold of her, steadying her, shocked at the strong reaction. She feels her own bundle of nerves pulsating, and she’s almost surprised at how turned on all of this is making her. It would almost scare her, this amount of sheer control she has over Hermione, pressing her almost helpless against the window, blindfolding her, but knowing that this is what Hermione wants, witnessing the way the witch is coming undone, understanding that this is _okay_ , more than truly, she lets her own arousal wash over her, humming as she wraps her mouth around Hermione’s nipple.

“Andy!” she relishes the way her name falls from Hermione’s lips as she tugs hard at her hair again, her mouth popping off the nipple to kiss her girlfriend as she enters her with two fingers easily, the wet sounds coming from Hermione as she fucks her sending more shocks of desire straight to her own sex. She leans forward, putting more pressure against Hermione, sending her further into the ice, and her breaths come heavy as she eyes her pulse point before descending upon it, lapping with her tongue before latching on, sucking. Hermione’s moans drive her higher, _higher_. She grunts as she picks up the pace of her fingers fucking into Hermione while her other hand scrapes against Hermione’s scalp before soothing with soft pads.

Letting go of her hold on Hermione’s neck, she breathes out, “Oh my god, you feel heavenly, perfect, my love.” Hermione trembles beneath her, and she continues pumping her fingers, adding a third one once she’s sure Hermione can take it. Which she does without any trouble, walls clamping down eagerly at the new pressure added inside of her, whining for still _more_. They’ve tried a fourth finger before and it’d been a bit too much, but after taking the imitation cock so well? She’s up for giving it another go, and Merlin does she want her pinky in Hermione’s wet heat, too.

And oh sweet sodding _Salazar_ , does she never want to neglect her pinky from such a sensation ever again if it can be helped. From the way Hermione sobs out a shriek of utter ecstasy at the additional finger stretching her, she’s sure it won’t be a problem. Her thumb continues to rub Hermione’s clit, relaxing her muscles enough to penetrate deeper, quickening her pace as she rocks them, pressing Hermione into the glass again, almost incomprehensible babble coming forth from her girlfriend’s lips. “You’re so wonderful, such a good girl, Hermione. Absolutely perfect, love,” she croons, and Hermione grips harder onto her back as she undulates into her, likely leaving scratches, but she finds that she doesn’t mind at all.

“An— Andy, getting… cl–close, oh Godric,” the words tumble out of Hermione in a rush, and at the confirmation of what she’s already feeling, walls clenching around her fingers at a faster pace, Andromeda slows just long enough to hear Hermione beg. “Please, please, _need you_ , Andy!” And she dips her head against Hermione’s neck, smiling into her skin before she pulls back slightly, cupping Hermione’s face, admiring flushed cheeks and parted lips before she quickens her thrusts again to a bruising pace until she feels Hermione’s thighs tremble, then she pushes her with her body into the ice spikes again. At that, she finally feels Hermione clench tightly around her fingers as she comes with a scream, her walls fluttering as she rides out her orgasm. Andy loves the way Hermione screams her name, and she continues pumping her fingers, though delicately removes one at a time starting with her pinky, slowing until Hermione pants out her finish.

Hermione’s head lolls forward onto Andy, and eyeing the knot of the blindfold, she asks her if she wants it off yet. A moment passes as Hermione gathers her breath, then she gives her consent. The knot comes undone, the blindfold falling to the ground, and Hermione lifts her head, meeting Andromeda’s eyes for the first time in several minutes. However much the blindfold may have helped to amplify the cold sensations, she’s missed seeing those eyes. Missed that tender gaze reserved only for her. She smiles and raises a hand to stroke Hermione’s cheek.

“Was that everything you wanted out of this?” she asks almost timidly, hoping so desperately that everything went all right. That Hermione regrets nothing about it. Hermione sucks her lips in and then exhales slowly, the corners of her lips curling up into a lazy smile. “It was. It was, Andy. Everything and more, though… let me,” and she mutters an incantation under breath, sighing afterwards. “Had to cancel the ice spikes. It felt… bloody out of this world, and that blindfold? Fucking _brilliant,_ Andy. Multiplied the sensations by at least tenfold if not more. I definitely want to try this again if you're up for it, love.”

Stepping back from Hermione, giving her space to breathe and move around again, she nods. “It was… it didn’t leave me entirely unaffected, either.” And she’s suddenly reminded of her still aching clit, the slick at the apex of her thighs, but she’s all right, she doesn’t have to finish off, she only wanted to pleasure Hermione tonight truly. But gods, Hermione can read her like an open book, and before she knows it, potted plants are moved out of the way on a space of countertop and she’s sitting on a patch of counter that’s been cleaned with a _scourgify_ , and Hermione is on her knees lapping at her centre.

It would almost be embarrassing how fast she comes from Hermione’s tongue pleasuring her if this was one of their first times having sex, but Hermione understands, doesn’t mind. Knows she was already close the moment she laid eyes on her erect clit, murmuring, “Oh you poor girl, you need someone to finish you, don’t you?” to which Andy had replied, “Only you, love, only— !” but she hadn’t been able to finish for Hermione surging forward in one motion, licking her from entrance to clit, swirling her tongue around the swollen bundle of nerves only to then suck her into her mouth.

Hermione continues to lap up her come until her thighs stop trembling and her toes uncurl. They both have half a mind to go straight to the magically widened chaise lounge and fall asleep right then and there, only to hear fireworks begin to go off once they’ve tugged on their underwear, only in case of someone coming in without warning tomorrow. Even if Narcissa’s already seen them both naked as the days they were bloody born, neither particularly want a literal repeat of that, and even if Andy knows Hermione experiences a thrill of pleasure at the _idea_ of being caught, she doesn’t want Draco or Harry to be at all involved, _ever_. Or for Merlin’s sake, Teddy. She would have to ask Hermione’s forgiveness for _Obliviating_ her own grandson if gods forbid that ever happened.

But knowing she’s applied charms for their privacy tonight through to when they wake tomorrow, she pulls Hermione close to her, nonverbally applying a few Healing spells to her girlfriend's back just in case, and they approach the conservatory’s windows, taking in the fireworks that the others are setting off in the back of the manor. After scrounging around with her free hand, she pulls out her pocket watch, something Ted had given her on her seventeenth birthday because she’d already been disowned from her family so she’d never received her coming-of-age gift from her parents, and upon opening it up to check the time, she ducks her head to whisper in Hermione’s ear, “Happy New Year, my love.”

And though the holidays still bring a measure of sorrow to her, remembering the family she’s lost, and even though tears fall from her eyes as she turns Hermione by the chin to face her, she’s _happy_. Hermione wipes the tears tracks and catches the fresh ones that fall from her eyes, returning her greeting and murmuring words of comfort and love before slightly leaning up to place a soft kiss to her lips. She doesn’t tell her she _shouldn’t_ cry, that she should be happy. She’s never said that. Hermione Granger accepts her as she is. And in the morning, when Andromeda wakes on the chaise lounge and finds Hermione’s turned around from their regular spooning position to bury her head against the front of her body, the draw of a future with this woman tugs stronger than that of a focus on the past.

**Author's Note:**

> considering making this a series of snapshots of their life together within this au, so this series may update whenever i think of something and also have the inspiration + motivation to write it. also, i've remembered that i made a twitter with the same username as i have on here (which was somehow gloriously not already taken), so if you ever wanna talk fic, [insert black sister here] x hermione femslash, femslash in general, or whatever, feel free to hit me up there.


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